re of their intimate
acquaintances, arrived, and the parsonage had a busy air; but John, who
had undertaken to drive Grace Chatterton in his own phaeton, was yet
absent. Some little anxiety had begun to be manifested, when he appeared,
dashing through the gates at a great rate, and with the skill of a member
of the four-in-hand.

Lady Chatterton had begun to be seriously uneasy, and she was about to
speak to her son to go in quest of them, as they came in sight; but now
her fears vanished, and she could only suppose that a desire to have Grace
alone could keep one who bad the reputation of a Jehu so much behind the
rest of the party. She met them in great spirits, crying,

"Upon my word, Mr. Moseley, I began to think you had taken the road to
Scotland, you stayed so long."

"Your daughter, my Lady Chatterton," said John, pithily, "would go to
Scotland neither with me nor any other man, or I am greatly deceived in
her character. Glara, my sister, how do you do?" He saluted the bride with
great warmth and affection.

"But what detained you, Moseley?" inquired the mother.

"One of the horses was restive, and he broke the harness. We merely
stopped in the village while it was mended."

"And how did Grace behave?" asked Emily, laughing.

"Oh, a thousand times better than you would, sister; as she always does,
and like an angel."

The only point in dispute between Emily and her brother was her want of
faith in his driving; while poor Grace, naturally timid, and unwilling to
oppose any one, particularly the gentleman who then held the reins, had
governed herself sufficiently to be silent and motionless. Indeed, she
could hardly do otherwise had she wished it, so great was his impetuosity
of character; and John felt flattered to a degree of which he was himself
unconscious. Self-complacency, aided by the merit, the beauty, and the
delicacy of the young lady herself, might have led to the very results her
mother so anxiously wished to produce, had that mother been satisfied with
letting things take their course. But managers very generally overdo their
work.

"Grace _is_ a good girl," said her gratified mother; "and you found her
very valiant, Mr. Moseley?"

"Oh, as brave as Caesar," answered John, carelessly, in a way that was not
quite free from irony.

Grace, whose burning cheek showed but too plainly that praise from John
Moseley was an incense too powerful for her resistance, now sank back
behind some of the c